Chumley’s, a bar beloved by the city’s literati, will reopen after nine years
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By RALPH GARDNER JR.
Oct. 12, 2016 8:55 p.m. ET
A man walked up to the famously unmarked door at 86 Bedford St., which happened to be unlocked.
The big day is Tuesday, when the West Village speakeasy-turned-pub Chumley’s reopens after a chimney collapse forced it to close nine years ago. The bar is beloved by New York City’s literati—its patrons over the years have included Willa Cather, Upton Sinclair, John Dos Passos, Theodore Dreiser, John Steinbeck and Jack Kerouac.
To be honest, I didn’t realize Chumley’s had made it into this century. I don’t think I had visited since the 1980s.
But part of its charm, its casual grace, was that it took only one visit to make it feel your own. Subsequent trips were like returning home.
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And if one aspired to be a writer, or a creative type of any description, the walls lined with book jackets couldn’t help but encourage your dreams.
Best of all was the unmarked entrance around the corner on Barrow Street, accessed through a courtyard, which made you feel like an insider before you even stepped in. Unfortunately, that is one detail missing from the new Chumley’s.
I was prepared to assign blame to Alessandro Borgognone, its new owner, but when we met, he explained that the problem is with the neighboring building, which owns the courtyard.
“The buildings alongside are residential,” he said. “That’s their entrance.”
I protested at the unfairness. The courtyard was sacred space. It ought to be on the National Register of Historic Places.
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Mr. Borgognone, who at 37 years old never set foot in the old Chumley’s, shrugged.
“It was before my time,” he said. “You make the best of the things you have.”
I’m reluctant to admit it, but he’s done a pretty good job bringing it back to life. While the new space is plusher, he seems to have captured the spirit and intimacy of the old pub.
The book jackets on the walls are back, including what appears to be the original 1939 edition of “The Grapes of Wrath.” Photographs of writers, also framed and mounted, bolster the literary effect.
In addition, the restaurant is now filled with comfortable banquettes made of distressed leather. “The old ones were made of wood,” Mr. Borgognone reminded me, tabletops etched so deeply with patrons’ initials as to be cultural artifacts in their own right.
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A dog statue PHOTO: STEVE REMICH FOR THE WALL STREET JOURNAL
Mr. Borgognone, who also owns Sushi Nakazawa, a Commerce Street restaurant whose rear window faces Chumley’s, seems to appreciate the sacramental aspects, that his burgers will taste better served with a side of history.
There is a working fireplace and above it a framed photograph of Leland Chumley, the activist who opened the place as a speakeasy in the Prohibition-era 1920s.
Mr. Borgognone assured me that the pub would be much better stocked than in the days when one of my college friends tended bar. “They were limited,” he said. “I think it was a bottle of vodka and gin and the beer.”
It turns out the old tabletops still exist. James DiPaola, a historian who has been working with Mr. Borgognone to get the details right, produced one, prompting both memories and flashbacks on my part.
I suggested they be put to use. Mr. DiPaola thought I meant as art.
“If we can find a place to mount it,” he said. “Several of these have survived.”
I meant to dine on.
“No one wants to eat off that,” Mr. Borgognone said.
You’d be surprised.
— ralph.gardner@wsj.com